


The Show Must Go On

by demizorua



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, Time Loop, hawooga this sure is something, i wrote this in one sitting unbeta'd so pls lmk if u find errors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 00:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14780196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demizorua/pseuds/demizorua
Summary: The first thing he noticed was the darknesstime loop au, shuichi-centric





	The Show Must Go On

The first thing he noticed was the darkness. _It shouldn't be dark, we got out, it's over_. He felt lightheaded, and then he was falling and there was moss and lockers and _her why was she here no no she can't-_

She was just as radiant as the real one.

He thought it must've been a dream, a nightmare, a hallucination, it wasn't real, it _couldn't be_ but then his eye and his voice and his _laugh_ and he was back where he started and everyone was _alive_ but she was too why was she here _she can't be here no no no-_

He pulls his hat (he didn't need it he told himself, Ouma was rubbing off on him) low over his eyes and forces a small smile as he pretends to meet them all over again- _hi, nice to meet you, you kill someone in 5 days_ \- and he clings to Akamatsu because she's the only one who's the same- _the crowd applauds as the life leaves her eyes._

It's like a choreographed dance, a carefully constructed performance, and he spends his time separated from it, convincing himself it's not real, it wasn't real, and then Amami's head splits open and _the blood is everywhere and someone's screaming and he can't breathe and he's laughing and laughing and all he can hear is her. She's mocking him she's laughing too and he can't breathe he can't think he can't he can't he **can't**_ and then it's dark.

He hates the dark.

0o0o0

The trial's fast. Too fast. He's not ready. She's innocent he knows it but he has no proof he can't prove it but she didn't she didn't _you didn't i promise._

Why did he have to do this again? He can't say goodbye again _he's not ready_ but the piano starts to play and she's gone.

He can't think can't focus can't _be_ and he hides away hoping if he does nothing they'll be safe and he hopes and he prays to Yonaga's god and he begs and pleads but they drown and fall and boil and burn and choke and bleed and Momota's lungs heave and Ouma's mask chips and Yumeno cries and _they all die, die, die._

Her faux sympathy is mocking him, it hurts it hurts _it hurts please not again._

He's confused and he's scared and he's broken but he manages to prove the truth he already knew again and again and again. The sick, twisted game mocks him, her glasses shining in the low light, her cackle and her vacant eyes and the props and wigs and disguises and it's all so _fake fake fake._

Kiibo ends it this time. He can't bring himself to search for evidence proving what he already knows to be the truth, and the dawn comes, and the explosion is hot and fast and bright. Safe. He feels nothing as his life comes to an end, the light fading into the ever-present darkness and apathy.

His hand pushes against the cold metal of the locker, and he screams.

0o0o0

Reset. Two through five he tried to save them, to keep them alive, to keep them alive _please please please don't leave me again_ but nothing changed- _ring around the rosie_ \- no one changed- _pocket full of posie_ \- no one lived- _ashes_ \- he couldn't save them- _ashes_ \- nothing he did changed anything.

_they all fall down_

Reset. Six and seven he tried confronting her, begging, pleading, threatening, screaming, _please please don't_. Those were the fastest.

Reset. Eight nine ten eleven he tries to make allies. Momota's strong, Akamatsu's brave, Amami's intelligent, Ouma's clever, they can help, help save them, save each other, save him, _save me please i can't do this anymore_. He learns, he cries, he mourns, they help him, they bear the burden, they _leave, they die, they're gone gone gone_.

Reset. The twelfth. He never leaves the locker. He shuts himself in, silent and mourning, waiting for something, some _one_ to help him, to save him, to come. As he sits in the darkness- _it's everywhere it's loud and cold and he hates it but it's all he knows_ \- he thinks of the others. Momota is strong and caring and smart, and he loves him, _god_ , does he love him, but he knows not even the great Kaito Momota, Luminary of the stars can save him, someone like him from something like this. Akamatsu is sweet and selfless and would do anything to help him because that's what best friends do but he failed her, he let her die, he doesn't deserve her light. Ouma's smart and crafty, everything about him is carefully calculated and performed. He's a puzzle, and he loves puzzles, but puzzles are dangerous. Dangerous and fragile and easily broken, and he can't take that risk.

He loses track of time, he can't tell how long he lasted, but to him, it felt like the longest timeline of them all. He slowly fades, wasting away to oblivion, and he fondly remembers his classmates, the ones who are no doubt being murdered cruelly as he sits in his own self-pity and does _nothing_ like the useless detective he is. He can't even save his friends. How pathetic.

He drifts off to the sound of whirring, dreaming of icy blue eyes chasing off the horrid dark, of eyes so warm despite their glassy surface, of eyes holding life and love and not emptiness and death, of innocent eyes, used for purposes their naive host had no part in. he awakes to a new reset, drying tears lingering on his pale, vacant face.

Reset. Thirteen through twenty. He breaks. He's desperate to escape, to free himself from this cycle of emptiness, to _feel something, anything_. Warm blood dripping down his arms, hazy fog drifting in his head as the water fills his lungs, the rush of the air as the ground flies towards him; he tries and tries to _make it end_. Click. Click. Click.

Reset. He's tired. He's lost count, not that it matters. The timelines are just repeating, anyway. He's tried them all. Gotten close to everyone, cut himself off, let others get away, become the victim, the killer, the executioner, the sadist. He's played every role, from jester to murderer. He's spoken to everyone, done everything he can, he's aided the mastermind, he's killed and died and fought and loved and lost but no matter what it goes _again again again._

None of it matters. Nothing he, nor anyone else does. It changes nothing. He's killed them all, he's won and lost, been executed and guilty and betrayed and convicted over and over again. Years had gone by, yet not a day had passed. He's taken to speaking to himself, to the audience he supposes, what with their micro cameras. cataloging everything that happens. It's all he has anymore. Just him, the cameras, and the dark. The darkness is everything. It's all he's ever known. It's his only purpose, his only motive, it's all that really matters.

He pulls the trigger.

The first thing he noticed was the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> [my art/writing blog](https://demizoruart.tumblr.com)


End file.
